


sweeter than cigarettes

by johnnyfucksup



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Joey Tribbiani, Drinking, Gay Chandler Bing, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Realization, Smoking, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 22:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16274066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnyfucksup/pseuds/johnnyfucksup
Summary: (Okay, yes, he doesn’t have to listen to his roommate making girls scream, but he can also hear Joey sometimes, choking on little moans, breathing heavily, a small “yes” here and quiet “fuck” there… and Chandler knows he’s fucked, but not the way he would rather enjoy, and now Chandler craves a cigarette.)





	sweeter than cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> first fanfic on this account (and in english, sue me), because there can never be too much chanoey, amiright  
> 'tis like... half serious life crisis, half hot making out session, 'cause... i love making people first wanna die and then make out.  
> no sex (in this one, winky-wink), lemme know what you think
> 
> (I don't write my fanfictions like I write my notes before/after them, don't let my tumblr-language fool you, yeah?)

Joey is a gigolo. 

And for once, Chandler doesn’t intend on making a joke based on his roommate’s nationality and his love affairs – even though, it is a really good connection, come on –, he just makes a mental statement for himself. 

And why does he make this very obvious statement for himself, in the middle of the night, while lying on his back, his eyes fixated on nothing in the air? Because he can hear his mentioned gigolo roommate from the other room having sex. Actually, he can only hear his roommate’s guest – an annoyingly loud girl, moaning and practically screaming. He can also hear the loud creak of the bed, the thumping of it against the wall, which, unfortunately, is the wall that separates the two bedrooms, making it hard to ignore.

So, Chandler lies on his bed, listening to his best friend having sex. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, you should think. And it isn’t. Technically. 

Chandler had always listened to Joey having sex – in a _no-homo-totally-supporting-being-proud-of-his-best-friend-way_ – and it had never bothered him. Even though, some of Joeys bed bunnies were so loud that Chandler couldn’t sleep and had to spend the night on Monika’s and Rachel’s couch. 

Mentally, he stresses the past tension. It _had_ never bothered him. 

But now, it kind of does bother him. 

He would love to convince himself that Joey’s one-night stands bother him because he himself hasn’t got laid in a while. That he is just jealous of his best friend, that he would like to be the one making all these noises with another girl, making it hard for Joey to sleep.

But it doesn’t bother him because he’s jealous of _Joey_. No. 

It bothers him because he has started to notice his best friend. He started to notice Joey’s cracked smile, his dumb folded expression whenever he doesn’t get a joke at first, his passion over sandwiches and his auditions, his seriousness in serious situations, his love and care for his friends, his ruffled hair in the mornings, his sleepy face after a long night out, his way too tight shirts and pants, oh those tight, _tight_ pants… 

And of course, he noticed how painfully straight and gigolo-like Joey is, always flirting around, bringing different girls home every night, making them scream and moan, so Chandler can’t sleep and has to listen to it.

(Okay, yes, he doesn’t _have_ to listen to his roommate making girls scream, but he can also hear Joey sometimes, choking on little moans, breathing heavily, a small “yes” here and quiet “fuck” there… and Chandler knows he’s fucked, but not the way he would rather enjoy, and now Chandler craves a cigarette.)

xx

It has been quite a while since Chandler has discovered his interests in a certain Italian. Since he has begun thinking and questioning and since he isn’t that sure anymore if he’s really that different from his dad.  
It has also been almost the exact amount of time in which he started smoking again. This time he hasn’t tried to hide it from his friends. Actually, he has made it very obvious and clear that he has started smoking again and that nobody can force him to stop.

Since those cigarettes are not just an addiction for him anymore, like they used to be, they are a good method to escape his thoughts and his questionings about Joey. He can go for a smoke every time Joey wanders around their apartment half naked, every time he falls asleep on the couch and Chandler wants to cover him with a blanket and just stare at his sleeping face…

His smoking kind of gives him opportunities to flee. Whenever Joey comes along and starts to tell them about his newest bed bunny, whenever Joey looks especially cute and hot and touchable, whenever Chandler starts to wonder how Joey's lips would feel, how they would taste, if he tastes better than his cigarettes?

He then disappears with his cigarettes, sits on the fire escapes or the patio and smokes until his throat hurts and his lungs feel black. And then he just smokes on because hurting isn’t enough to keep his mind from Joey, from his longing and his embarrassing, teenage-like pining after him. 

The cigarettes aren’t the only things anymore that hurt Chandler in his chest. 

Fuck. 

xx

Chandler isn’t the type of person who is very subtle and discreet. He isn’t good at hiding things or at keeping a straight face or avoiding awkwardness. Everyone knows that. The only time he has been rather successful at hiding something from others was when he and Monika had this short hanky-panky, nothing more than a teenage-like affair, without sex and without feelings.  
Maybe it was easier for him to keep this secret because he and Monika had known from the beginning that it wouldn’t work out and that they wouldn’t stay together and they hadn’t been in love.

But now he is in love, maybe for the first time in his pathetic little life, and it’s _hard_.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard if the person he’s in love with were a girl. Or, at least, a guy nobody of his friends knew. Someone who isn’t so close, who isn’t his best friend, who isn’t his roommate.  
Someone who would be easier to forget. 

But no, Chandler Bing has the hots for his unfairly good-looking best friend who lives with him, who he sees everyday and is therefore everyday reminded why he has the hots for him.

And almost every night Chandler Bing is reminded that Joey Tribbiani is a gigolo and a womanizer and that he would never find out if his lips are sweeter than his cigarettes.

(Chandler now has began to drink every night, together with his cigarettes, because he wants to distract himself from the hurt in his stomach and his chest, every time he hears Joey’s muffled voice through the paper thin walls.)

xx

“How do you always do this?”, Chandler hasn’t intended on addressing his wonder – and jealousy, _come on, Chandler, you know it_ – about Joey’s ability in bed. He really hasn’t. Actually, it’s the last thing he wants to know. He doesn’t want to know how Joey spoils his girls in bed, how he makes them feel good, what he does in order to make them scream. 

(Chandler has heard it long enough, he doesn’t need more material for his hurt, doesn’t need explicit images in his head, he has enough of them already, he doesn’t need to _hurt more–_ )

“Do what?” His chance to wave aside the question, forget about it, pretend he didn't say anything.

“How do you let those girls scream like they have an epiphany when they’re together with you?”, Chandler sighs, because, of course he has to clarify the question. Good job, Chandler. 

(Tonight he’s going to sit alone on the balcony again.)

“I could tell you…”, Joey smirks, shuffles closer to the counter on his bar stool, trying to look all mysterious. 

“…when I explain to you what an epiphany is, right?”, Chandler knows his best friend, too well if you asked him. Joey just grins and nods apologetically, As if you assumed that I know this word. 

“As if they found God and want to let him know their love and endless loyalty”, joking and explaining at the same time, Chandler knows his domain. 

(Rather, using joking and overexaggerating to hide his hurt. Yeah, that’s more his domain.)

Joey seems to understand, looks at the counter top for a moment and furrows his brows. It is always a sight to see Joey thinking, thinking earnestly and intensely. It looks like he’s breaking his pretty little head every time when he tries to concentrate on something that really bothers or interests him. 

_No,_ Chandler scolds himself, _Joey’s head may be little but it’s not pretty. Stop. We talked about this._

“Actually… I don’t really know, y’know”, Joey shrugs with both of his shoulders, “I think it’s a talent?”

“Well, when you can’t explain it, you could just show me”, Chandler breaks his jokes, let’s them out and never really thinks about them. But in some situations, and this one is certainly one of them, he really wishes he would think before he speaks. But no, he must be careless and fixated on being funny and quirky and hiding his insecurities and his longings, so he just doesn’t think about how his jokes go too far, how his jokes can hurt people, how his jokes aren’t even _goddamn funny–_

Or how his jokes can shut up Joey Tribbiani, gigolo and womanizer, who just stares at him, his eyes comically wide open, his cool grin wiped from his beautiful face – not beautiful, look, we talked about this, Chandler – and mouth hanging slightly open.

(Oh, how Chandler wants to kiss that stupid mouth and brush that stupid look off his face, and wants ruffle his ruffled black hair, and no. Never gonna happen.)

“What, can’t I make jokes anymore?”, Chandler fake laughs nervously, turning away from his best friend, opening the fridge without knowing why. “As if I’d need more evidence that you're so irresistible.”

Hoping his sarcasm would save the situation, how it often did in the past.

When he turns around, he almost lets the beer hit the ground which he has unconsciously taken out of the fridge. 

Joey stands right in front of him, one eyebrow evaluated, one hand on the counter and one closing the door of the fridge. Chandler almost doesn’t notice that he’s trapped between his roommate and his kitchen surface, he’s too distracted by mentioned roommate’s expression.

Joey looks right off offended – the last time he had looked that mortally offended, Chandler had eaten his sandwich –, his eyes squirmed, his fingers tapping on the surfaces they covered, staring into Chandler’s eyes with an intensity that was slightly horrifying. 

“You don’t think I’m seducing?”, it sounded outraged and hot at the same time, and Chandler really wasn’t subtle or discreet or good at hiding anything from this person because –

“No! I mean yes, you really are. I mean, your seductiveness did work on me…”

…fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck it, fuck life, fuck himself, how can he be so stupid and nervous, he isn’t a teenage girl!, _fuckfuckfuck–_

“Oh”, hummed Joey, his head tilted, a light grin twitching around his mouth. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. You mean my charm, but I should really demonstrate you my _physical talent._ ”

 _...fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck it, fuck_ me.

“Oh yeah?”, Chandler’s voice cracks, doesn’t seem to belong to him anymore. Which makes the situation for him even more unreal. Joey wants to show him his physical talent? Oh boy, he really craves a cigarette now.

With a quiet “mhm” and a small and pretty confident grin Joey grabs the back of Chandler’s neck, takes the beer out of his hand and places it on the counter top, the places Chandler’s now free hand on his side and closes the distance between their faces. 

Chandler is totally overwhelmed. He can’t move, he can’t close his eyes, he can’t do anything, except wanting a cigarette and never waking up from this unfairly beautiful dream – 

And then he kind of wakes up, focuses his eyes again on Joeys face – beautiful, sweet, goddamn face –, and he thinks fuck it, grabs Joey by his side and the front of his shirt and pulls him closer. He can feel Joey’s smug grin against his lips, pulls him closer and closer and closer, until they can’t get any closer, but it feels not close enough, so Chandler pushes away from the fridge and stumbles with Joey on his lips through the room. Joey hits with the back of his knees one of the armchairs, lets himself fall on it and pulls Chandler along. 

They lose themselves in their kissing, in their hair-pulling, their lip-biting. Chandler isn’t sure if it’s a dream or not, but he wants to savour every second of this maybe-real-maybe-not-situation, runs his hands through Joey’s hair, pulls them, sneaks them under his shirt, smooches his skin, nibble on his lips and his earlobes and his neck, loses himself in Joey’s kiss and scent and taste, oh my god, and in Joey’s everything – 

Until Joey pushes him away. 

And then the bubble bursts. 

Chandler becomes aware of what they did just now, what that means for them, for their friendship, for him.

He looks at Joey, sees his muffled black hair, his blushed cheek, this one little dark mark behind his ear, his swollen lips. And those lips are curled and smirking and grinning and smiling all at once, and suddenly, Chandler hasn’t got the urge anymore to stand up and run away and hide from his feelings.

“Okay, I guess I am not the only one with physical talent”, purred Joey, grabs the back of Chandler’s neck again, grins and pulls him back in. 

Oh, Chandler has never craved less for a cigarette than now.


End file.
